


Drink Up

by Seebright



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Belly Kink, Cyclonus Promptly pays for having it Bad, Cyclonus gets existential a little bit, Cyclonus has it bad, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, Sickfic? I mean sorta, Tailgate is Excited, Tailgate is Here To Help, but it's fine, jus' a lil indigestion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 11:57:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12298773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seebright/pseuds/Seebright
Summary: Tailgate tries to show Cyclonus something nice (courtesy of Swerve). Cyclonus fails to differentiate between things one should shotgun and things one probably should not.





	Drink Up

“Just _try_ it! If you don’t like it you don’t have to have anymore, I’ll finish it off,” Tailgate pressed, standing on his seat to crane over the booth and add meaning to his fervent encouragement.

Sitting across the narrow table from the minibot, Cyclonus eyed the drink Tailgate had pushed into his hand when he entered Swerve’s, and had since set down a safe distance from the edge of the table in the wake of Tailgate’s increasingly keen attempts to get him to imbibe it. In the dim light of the mostly empty bar (he wouldn’t have come if the dingy spectacle included more than a handful others, or any from a select list of persons) the drink shone and shimmered and bubbled in a way that set Cyclonus’ tank to a mirrored mild churn just looking at it. Varieties of differently sized bubbles seemed to emerge endlessly from the bottom of the glass, yet as they approached the surface of the smoothly glinting purple drink they dissipated into foamy, reflective glints and sank once more.

If nothing else, the drink was fascinating in its own right, and Cyclonus could understand why Tailgate liked it so much, just a little. It seemed like the sort of thing he would enjoy looking at while he drank.

The little mini had such an incredible appreciation for the delicate things in life, pretty things that served no purpose other than to make him happy. Cyclonus couldn’t see like that. He had his doubts that he ever even had the ability to. There were few kinds of beauty he could still appreciate, and he supposed it said something about him that he could only see many of them with Tailgate as a go-between.

“ _Cyclonus_! Don’t you zone out, it’s not even that strong. C’mon, just a little sip? I swear, it’s the best thing I’ve ever put in my oral port, it’s so smooth and it bubbles in your tank, Swerve made it just for me he said.” Tailgate wheedled, tilting his helm and bouncing on the table a little, just enough so Cyclonus felt it was worthwhile to keep a hold on the high grade.

Tailgate had his own glass, and was halfway through it, the effects of the drink only apparent to the careful observer that Cyclonus ever was around the troublesome mini. His visor flared just a touch more with rises in the pitch of his vocalizer, he bounced with just a bit more disregard for what might be considered acceptable in a public forum, he was continuing to push for Cyclonus to try the drink he had been side-eyeing the entire half joor or so they had been speaking.

Cyclonus, to Tailgate’s credit, hadn’t specifically said he _wouldn’t_ try the drink. He was, after all, a mech who preferred to speak with actions. And Tailgate was just this side of tipsy enough not to notice (or to have the determination to pretend not to notice) Cyclonus’ mildly irritated hesitation.

Cyclonus looked up at the mini sitting opposite him and felt his resistance weaken at the earnest, slightly inebriated way Tailgate motioned him on, sitting back on his booth and nodding enthusiastically as he clutched his drink in both hands and slid back his mask to take a sip. It took a try or two to get the swirly straw properly situated in his circular port, but Tailgate managed and then took a short pull from his glass, humming in a delighted and probably a little exaggerated way.

With a restrained sigh, Cyclonus looked back to his own full drink, feeling the slightest tug of guilt on his spark. Tailgate was so excited to share this with him, he had paid for two drinks as soon as they sat down, vibrating just a little with eagerness. The dear little mini with his love of sparkling, beautiful things and his willingness to hope and his trust that perhaps, the effort he put into befriending such a cold, dangerous mech could pay off in the form of a friendly (as a relative term) face.

Was it really such an ordeal, to try a mouthful of Tailgate’s favorite drink? It wasn’t, and in the face of Tailgate’s continuing persuasion Cyclonus couldn’t think of a good reason not to do as the mini hoped.

“Alright.”

“-and if you really don’t like it, we can taste all sorts of others. Swerve has all these different types of drinks, that I’ve never even seen, and,” Tailgate cut off his rambling, quiet for just a moment, then he was scrambling to his pedes on the booth to resume his earlier excited position, though thankfully without the bouncing. Cyclonus saw that Tailgate had set his own glass down closer to the edge than was necessarily advised.

“Oh, you’ll love it Cyclonus!” He blurted, vocalizer twisting in glee. He let loose a stream of bubbly giggles, which sounded triumphant as much as happy.

Cyclonus had to wonder if he had made a mistake, but the mini’s clear excitement and the tugging on his spark, in a new and more positive and insistent direction than before kept him from backwheeling. And pride, he reminded himself. He had said he would, so he would. His decision had nothing at all to do with the little jump his spark made, to see Tailgate happy for something Cyclonus did.

Cyclonus looked sternly at the minibot, who took the hint and sat back down to watch him expectantly.

Turning his gaze back to the accursed drink, Cyclonus sized it up a moment longer before carefully wrapping his talons around the thin glass and downing it all at once, gulping down the now viciously fizzing drink before he could think about the boiling sensation too much. It felt exactly as he would imagine drinking boiling liquid might, though it was only gently warm. Setting the glass back down to the table, he moved his glossa around his mouth, and residual pockets of the drink warmed it when he swiped at them.

It didn’t taste bad. Much more silver nitrate than he would have preferred, and he had the distinct feeling that there was more selenium in the concoction than was healthy, but not nearly the worst thing that he had drunk in his life. Not even the worst thing this cycle.

“Cyclonus!” Tailgate exclaimed.

Mildly bewildered at the mini’s amused tone, Cyclonus raised an orbital ridge at him.

Tailgate seemed on the verge of hysterical laughter, and Cyclonus wondered if perhaps the drink had a little more potency than Tailgate had thought.

“I only expected you to take a little sip,” he giggled helplessly. “I need, I need to go ask Swerve something, just a click.”

And with that, the mini slid off the booth and transformed, driving a little unsteadily towards the bar where Swerve was now watching him approach with a wide smile from across the room, setting down the glass he was cleaning as Tailgate unstably approached.

Oh yes, more potent than expected, Cyclonus thought as Tailgate’s trailing giggles quieted.

He settled to watch their interaction, for all that he couldn’t hear it, and realized that the bubbling he felt hadn’t stopped, or even abated. It felt as though the drink was doing exactly as it had been in the glass, and it felt as though each imagined bubble dispersed with a flash of coolness, quickly replaced by unusual warmth, against the walls of his tank.

It was truly disconcerting, and Cyclonus began to think of how he’d explain this to Ratchet if it came to that.

A swell of bubbles curled up the back of his intake, and Cyclonus’ even venting hitched. It felt similar to purging, though while his tank clenched and gurgled unhappily at the thought, it stayed settled enough that he felt in no danger of the actual event.

Tailgate finished up his quick conversation with Swerve, and came jogging back.

“Ok, you’ll be alright, but Swerve thinks you might want to go lay down for a while. How does it feel?” Tailgate hummed thoughtfully. “It always takes me nearly a joor to finish mine, but I like to savor the bubbles and the sweet stuff, you know? I never imagined how it might be to drink it all at once!”

Cyclonus must have been making quite an interesting face, because Tailgate carefully took one of his servos in both of his smaller ones, so refreshingly carefully it seemed to the swordsmech, and tugged him gently. Taking the hint, Cyclonus stood.

“I got some opera holovids off of Rewind, do you wanna go back to the habsuite and watch some? I remembered how you really liked the one you showed me, and I was gonna save them for later, if you were ever feeling down, but,” Tailgate trailed off and looked to the side in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry for pushing, I know it must feel really weird. I wanted you to try something nice, and I really liked this, but I can see why someone else might… Not.” The mini clutched at Cyclonus’ servo now and looked up at the swordsmech.

Cyclonus stared impassively at the mini, tentatively reaching with his EM field and finding Tailgate’s more closed-off than usual, and held uncomfortably and with guilt staining the edges he brushed against.

Cyclonus was well aware of his difficulties understanding the reasoning behind others’ emotions, and in portraying his own in a reasonably understandable manner, though that was more a help than a hindrance in many situations. He pondered, more despairingly than he would let on, why in Primus’ name Tailgate would be embarrassed, and guilty of all things.

Tailgate took his silence the wrong way, loosening his hold on Cyclonus’ servo and stepping back.

“I really am sorry Cyclonus, I got all caught up in showing it to you and I didn’t even realize how pushy I was kinda being. I’ll understand if you just wanna go back to the habsuite, I can stay here for a few joor, finish my drink and-“

Cyclonus cut him off, raising a hand to halt his rambling and frowning.

“You did nothing wrong, Tailgate. I would enjoy watching holovids with you.” His derma twisted in consternation as another bubble worked its way up his intake. “Though they may have to wait for another cycle, the drink is… Affecting me. You said it’s supposed to do this?” Better to get any medical worries out of the way first.

Tailgate brightened immediately, his field teeking relief from the wisps Cyclonus picked up as it expanded buoyantly again.

“Yeah, it’s supposed to feel all bubbly in your tank. Though Swerve did suggest not to drink it all at once. Oh wow, maybe you do want to lie down! Come on, I’ll get you some rations from the dispenser in the room, that might settle it. It always quieted things down if I wanted to.” Tailgate said, taking Cyclonus’ hand back up and pulling so lightly, it was all but a suggestion.

“You aren’t going to finish your own?” Cyclonus asked.

“Hm? Oh, no, I think I’ve had enough.” The mini giggled quietly, and tugged just a little more insistently.

Cyclonus couldn’t resist.

 

 

Back at the habsuite, Tailgate looked at Cyclonus for permission before pushing their berths together and setting the slightly dented holovid player on the far end in the very middle, and Cyclonus gathered they were to both sit on their respective berths and be able to see and hear the vid. He settled down with his legs crossed, and Tailgate had reached for the play button, before jerking his hand back and scooting urgently off of the berth.

“I almost forgot to get your cube!” Tailgate lightly reprimanded, though who he spoke to was unclear. He filled the cube and climbed back onto the berth as Cyclonus watched carefully.

“Here!”

And though Cyclonus’ tank still churned and felt uncomfortably full for all the small drink he had had, he accepted it with a nod of thanks and downed it steadily in one go.

It made things much worse, his now overfull tank groaning and stretched and sending stabs of uncomfortably sharp pain through his chassis, but Cyclonus set his servos in his lap, clenched his jaw, and turned his attention to the holovid Tailgate had just pressed play for.

Only a few minutes in and Cyclonus had his armor clenched tight, trying to muffle the sounds of his complaining tank. He did feel as though he may be in danger of purging now, bubbles and energon both rising in the back of his intake. Surreptitiously, he glanced at Tailgate. The mini already was fighting drowsiness, lying on his front and lazily kicking his pedes in the air. Cyclonus snuck a hand to press over his tank.

Which suddenly twisted and an uncontrollable upswelling of bubbles rose in his intake, and though Cyclonus clenched his denta an unmistakably loud burp escaped his best efforts.

Tailgate startled, plating twitching in alarm and clicking against the berth. Shaking off recharge, he sat up and looked at Cyclonus, who somewhat bemusedly held a servo to his mouth as though disbelieving that such a sound could come from him, with no small amount of concern.

“Are you… Okay?” The mini questioned hesitantly.

“I am,” Cyclonus was interrupted by another, smaller burp, “I am unsure. I believe there is no cause for alarm.”

Understanding lit Tailgate’s visor. “I see, it must be the drink, right? Your tank is upset?” The minibot hesitated, then haltingly suggested, “I could give you a belly rub, if it’s ok?”

Cyclonus unconsciously pressed with the servo over his tank, and had to suppress a groan of discomfort.

Tailgate picked up on it regardless and crawled a little closer. “I don’t have to if you don’t wanna, but I really would like to help. I like touching you.”

He immediately seemed to think better of the whispered comment.

“I mean, I don’t dislike touching you! I’m not afraid, just the opposite, you make me feel nice! And safe, and like I have someone, and I want to – I just wanna – “

Cyclonus quietly teeked embarrassment and honest desire to help and hope from Tailgate’s field, so he mentally crossed his fingers he interpreted it correctly and reached out the servo not over his tank to carefully, minding his talons, grab Tailgate’s and press it to his belly alongside his own. The effort overextended Tailgate’s reach a little and he staggered clumsily closer, knees scraping gratingly on the berth.

Now within inches of each other, Cyclonus felt Tailgate extend his field easily in friendly, if hesitant, invitation. He deliberated, and loosened his hold on his own, allowing it a controlled reach to mingle with the mini’s. He got a clear teek of happiness for his efforts, like a star’s warm rays over his sensors and relaxed a fraction in spite of himself.

Tailgate’s servo was warmer than his own, and the palm proportionately wider and smoother. It felt nice, Cyclonus noted distantly, though it was helping not at all. The somewhat awkward positioning, Tailgate crouched in front of Cyclonus, trying to uncomfortably keep his arms straightened to maintain contact with Cyclonus probably played into that, he decided.

“Would you be uncomfortable if I laid down?” Cyclonus asked bluntly.

“Wha – no, yeah, that would be way easier.” Tailgate exclaimed, withdrawing his hand to allow Cyclonus the space to do so.

Electing to lie flat on what was his berth, Cyclonus reached out to grab Tailgate’s hand before the mini could hesitate any more, the discomfort in his tank rising with the change in position, only to find Tailgate hurrying to replace his servos, both this time, on Cyclonus middle. He carefully traced overlapping armor plates with soft touches, thumbing along biolights, and Cyclonus was entranced. He levered himself up on his elbows to watch, little of his amazement showing on his face save the softening of his optics.

Tailgate wasn’t to be distracted, smoothing his warm little hands over the plating with slow reverence, before pressing lightly right in the middle.

A long, gurgling growl resulted, shaking Cyclonus out of his reverie to stare instead with mild disgust at himself.

Tailgate huffed a soft laugh through his vents, and pressed little circles at the edges of clamped plating, urging Cyclonus to loosen it so he could work his small fingers beneath it to rub at the soft protoform.

Cyclonus reminded himself that he was not going to stop this now and upset Tailgate, and that the growing desire to melt into the berth under the patient, resumed ministrations of those digits was secondary, though admittedly supplemental to that. He laid back, and relaxed his plating as best he could.

The warmth of the digits directly against his protoform was unexpectedly blissful. He thought things over a last time, and decided that he trusted Tailgate not to do anything he didn’t appreciate, at least not intentionally, and that he wanted to make up in some way for the unfortunate evening by allowing the mini to do as he pleased within reason. He didn’t have to think very hard, with how Tailgate began to gently press and massage beneath the plate he wormed one servo under, while the other rubbed a slow, melting pattern up and down his side, his thumb pressing a stripe to Cyclonus’ plating on each downstroke.

Cyclonus wasn’t certain how much time had passed, or when he had begun quietly purring his engine when Tailgate’s hands hesitated, then stopped. Tailgate’s field was hesitant again, and help itself like a question. Cyclonus hummed inquiringly.

“I could reach better if I were… Straddling you? I mean, I’d have more reach and stuff, and my arm’s getting kind of stiff, could I…?” Tailgate whispered, the words carrying clearly across the otherwise silent room as Cyclonus’ engine quieted. Tailgate must have paused the holovid, somehow.

“Yes, you may.” He decided, half into recharge and discomfort dissipating. Cyclonus offlined his optics as Tailgate scrambled to orient himself on top of the larger swordsmech, knees not touching the berth on either side of Cyclonus’ waist. Cyclonus felt his endearing efforts and, relaxed and content, gave a small half-smile at the positive feelings of Tailgate’s field washing over his own.

The servos returned warmer and firmer and rubbing and pressing with intent and without his bidding it do so, Cyclonus’ engine growled smoothly his contentment. Their fields mingling and merging, his with another’s in a way he hadn’t experienced in a very long time relaxed Cyclonus more than he had thought possible. He fell into the rhythm and slow paths Tailgate rubbed up and down his belly, pressing here and there, running reverent digits along the edges of thick biolights and pressing his thumbs into softer areas with care.

Cyclonus couldn’t pinpoint the moment he fell into recharge later, though his chronometer was functioning correctly the entire time, only memories of warm contentment.

**Author's Note:**

> Lotta firsts! First fanfic in years, Transformers fanfic, first fanfic posted publicly, etc.   
> Hope y'all like it!   
> figures the first thing i post is. this.


End file.
